


The Hogwarts Research Fellowship

by paperbackwriter700



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Magic, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), My First Work in This Fandom, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24163546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperbackwriter700/pseuds/paperbackwriter700
Summary: It's the summer of 1991 and Hogwarts graduate Ariana Almazoff (OFC) returns to the school on a special mission from the Ministry of Magic. She will find out what teachers get up to during the holidays when there are no under aged wizards around... Crossing lines she never knew existed, Ariana is in for a wild ride, and possibly a major discovery...
Relationships: Bill Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first publicly published fic and it is a WIP. It's a bit dorky, but hopefully there is enough action and eventual smut to go on. I'm trying to keep in canon compliant where I can.

It was unusual to see house elves out in the open like that, and Ariana had seen two already since this morning. The first was crossing the Grey’s Inn Road as she walked towards the library. The elf was dressed oddly, and moreover it was also odd that it was dressed. It had a fur coat and hat, which flashed through the pedestrian traffic, trying to stay out of the way of lunch hour muggles, who were too busy running errands to spot it. 

If they had noticed it, they may have thought it to be a child in fancy dress playing at some sort of Siberian hunter-gatherer. Voltuy would have liked the outfit, she thought. Her mind drifted to thoughts the old elf whom her father had inherited after her grandfather died. Voltuy had wallowed around their London flat for about a month, mourning his master and trying to make himself useful. But her muggle born mother had bewitched a suite of appliances to automate chores, and the three of them couldn’t stomach the starchy, bland food Voltuy tried to cook. She tried teaching him English, but it was slow going, and his heart wasn’t in it. In the end, the poor creature crawled under the bathroom sink, refused food and water and quietly passed away. It was tragic to witness, but as her mother tightly observed, he’d had a good life with six generations of Almazoffs, and it was probably his time. 

Voltuy was the last of the original Almazoff clan who crossed over. Her father and uncle had been born in England and represented the settled generation. Before he died, every New Year’s Eve her grandfather would recite the tale of how the clan had fled Nizhny Vartovsk in the dead of night, escaping the Bolsheviks who were tracking warlock families. The clan had huddled together for four days without food or water, clinging to their carpet, as they sailed over the Urals and beyond to the west, afraid to set down and encounter Leshiys – the dark forest creatures that had been lured by the Reds to destroy wizarding homesteads. 

They landed outside Oslo and traded their carpet for an invisibility tent which they hoisted on the top deck of a timber freighter bound for Southampton. After a week of battering icy storms, they landed in England and immediately sought out the Ministry of Magic’s Wizarding Refuge Service. Their magical asylum came at a price – the Almazoffs were ordered to hand over their alchemy equipment to the Ministry before being allowed to settle. Her great uncle Makar was outraged and prepared to board another freighter, but her grandfather convinced his older brother to stay. It was a bitterly cold winter, the women and children were exhausted. More worryingly, the Yagas they neighboured in Nizhny Vartovsk were strong seers and had talked of a great calamity approaching muggle Europe, which would last many years. Fedor Almazoff felt his family were safer off the mainland, and eventually Makar agreed. 

No longer alchemists, the family settled in a smallholding outside Godrick’s Hollow, provided by the Magical Refuge Service. Here the women grew roots and brewed eastern remedies to make a living, while Fedor and Makar translated runes for the Ministry. It was a slow life, but safe, and it got them through the purges and the muggle war unscathed, which was something. The smallholding was the new seat of the Almazoffs until Fedor died, leaving behind only Voltuy; the British-born children had all grown up and left the Hollow, preferring the relative anonymity of London, where they felt less foreign. The farm, which had never been theirs in the first place, went back into Ministry possession, but their alchemy equipment was not returned. Ariana’s father said this was to be expected. 

She spotted the second elf, dressed head to toe in rivetted denim, emerge from King’s Cross underground station. This was too odd to be a coincidence, she thought as she approached the library. 

The courtyard was busy, but the atrium was relatively quiet. She waved at Oliver, who was serving an old man at the reception desk, flashed her pass at the guard and made for the staircase. Her pace dropped to a measured step as the quiet of the library enveloped her. If there was one thing which the muggles did better (come to think of it, there were several things, but this was definitely one), it was libraries. Muggles’ love for knowledge, their fervour to order and categorise it, manually, mentally, meticulously, was something she felt keenly here. A wizarding library was dusty and disorganised, but the British Library was a temple, where books, maps, manuscripts were all poised harmoniously, as if on the tip of the conductor’s baton. 

In Cambridge, Ariana loved the University Library, especially the history floors where the rolling stacks and timed lights were a maze of precarious adventure. She spent many happy nights in the college library, which had been converted from the old chapel and had desks overlooking Old Court through lancet windows. The gleaming glass pyramid of the faculty library was like a Louvre of texts. But none of these had the serenity of the British Library, its enormous reading rooms, its mixed bag of readers – not just scholars but retirees, journalists or just generally interested members of the public, authors and artists seeking inspiration. The cosmopolitanism and space made it utterly unlike anything in either Cambridge or Hogwarts, and Ariana loved it. 

She reached the Byzantine floor and saw Wanda at her little desk by the door. Wanda was an unfortunate name for a squib, who could not channel wand magic, but how were her parents to know that, Ariana thought. Wanda was pleasant enough and treated Ariana with the mixture of casual reverence and envy squibs often directed towards adult wizards. 

“Afternoon, Wanda. Quiet today?”

“Nothing extraordinary for a Friday. It’s good to see you. Back for the 3407?”, Wanda replied. 

“Yes, please, just for one last look before I go.”

“Oh, I thought we’d be seeing more of you over the summer. Are you going somewhere nice?”

“You could sat that,” Ariana hesitated, “I’m actually catching the express today, I’ve got a research fellowship at Hogwarts until September. Cataloguing Byzantine artefacts. It’ll be a change.”

“Hogwarts? How wonderful!” Wanda took off her reading glasses and smiled a genuine smile, “I’m sure it is very pleasant in the summer. Empty though, I suppose.”

“Some of the staff stay, I understand, but yes, I’ll have the run of the castle, I expect.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a beach holiday, but I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.” She stood up, wanting to move the conversation along. “Come along then, let’s get your friend off the shelf.” She pulled on a pair of white gloves and entered the dimly lit room. 

Ariana followed her in and watched, as she had many times before, as Wanda pulled open a large drawer and carefully extracted the 3407. Laying it gently on a stand, she opened the book about half way, inserted the plastic page turner, laid the tweezers next to the stand and took another pair of gloves form her pocket, handing them to Ariana. 

“There you are, be careful now. And use the turner, don’t charm the pages, they haven’t been tested for that.”

“Thanks, Wanda. I’ll be careful.” As Wanda turned to go, Ariana gathered up her courage and asked, “Listen, can I ask you for a favour?”

“Oh, yes?” replied Wanda, suspiciously.

“Well, you see, I’ve got two months ahead of me, and I really think I’m onto something here…”, she hesitated and watched Wanda’s eyebrows furrow. “Please let me take some pictures? I can really progress with the translation then, while I’m away.”

“You know there is no photography allowed in the library.” Wanda said, tersely.

“No muggle photography, officially.” Ariana replied, as she pulled a bewitched camera out of her bag, “This has no flash, no batteries, it won’t damage the pages, and I’ll keep the prints locked away. I’ll even bring them to you at the end of the summer so you can destroy them yourself. And I promise I won’t make copies. Please, Wanda.”

There was a pause during which Wanda’s eyes darted form the camera, to Ariana, to the manuscript and to the door, and back again. Ariana took a chance again:  
“Perhaps, I can be helpful to you in some way, to say thanks?...”

This was it, Wanda’s eyes flashed, she made a determined huff and walked over to the drawers. She pulled out a bottom drawer, which was overflowing with spine labels, all mixed up and muddled. 

“Be a dear and sort these out for me.” Wanda said as if it was the most common request, “It’ll take me a week to organise them.”

Smiling, Ariana pulled her wand – fir, 13 inches, unicorn hair – out of her sleeve:

“Ascendio legibilus”, and the labels fluttered into the air, descending into neat piles of twenty in the drawer. She felt Wanda sigh in relief, and possibly sadness. “There you go, ascending order.”

“Thank you, dear, very helpful.” said Wanda and shut the drawer, “I’ll leave you here now, and I’ll close the door.” She gave Ariana a meaningful look and turned to go. 

Ariana stood in front of 3407 and took several deep breaths. Here was the real reason she preferred the BL. There was definitely something about this manuscript...  
She turned the pages slowly, looking for unfamiliar passages. To other scholars, 3407 might not look particularly remarkable. The passages were New Testament, the late 9th century illuminations were clunky and not expertly done. But there was something in it, something in the “mistakes” which seemed intentional, something in the margin markings that resembled Celtic runes, which was odd for a minor Macedonian monastery. There was magic in 3407 and she was sure she would find it. 

If only she could cast reparifarge… It would be so simple. But 3407 was in muggle possession and protected. If she wanted to examine it magically, she’d have to submit a formal request to the Artefact Liaison Office, and without proof of suspected magical features it wouldn’t be granted. No, she’d have to look for clues in the text. 

She took her time taking close up photographs of two dozen pages which looked most promising, noting down the order of the pages in her notebook, circling those she had photographed for later. She wished she’d bought a replacement reel of film. Looking at her watch, she saw she had time to translate a passage, which she did for another hour, finding nothing remarkable in it, besides a few misspelt Greek words. Sighing at a job half done, she traced her gloved fingers along the edges of 3407, bidding it farewell for now. 

Wanda had already gone by the time she left the reading room, so she left the gloves and a short note of thanks on her desk and made for the stairs. In the atrium the front doors were already closed for entry, with the time being after 5.30. She spotted Oliver at the desk; his blond hair was loose today and fell on his face as he filled in index cards. What was it about guys with long hair?... 

Ollie had invited her to coffee in the courtyard three times since June, but never more than that. She’d have made the next move, but she was about to go away for the summer, and besides muggle dating was… It wasn’t that she thought mixed relationships wrong, not at all, and she’d given them a fair go in college. But dating muggles always made her feel dishonest and secretive. Some of her friends called in mysterious, but it didn’t sit well with her. Anyway, there was no harm in saying a brief hello.

“Ollie, what’s up?”

He looked up, slightly surprised, but quickly turned his face into an embarrassed smile. The rivet in his ear flashed briefly. “Ariana! Good to see you. Nothing, just finishing up. How is your manuscript?”

“I’ve tucked it in for the night.” She cringed at the dorky metaphor. “For the summer, I guess.”

He looked at her quizzically, “You’re going away?” 

“Yes, going up north. Until September. For research.” She added in haste, so as not to leave a frivolous impression. Ollie sagged slightly, disappointed. “I’ll be back here soon, though. I don’t have to be in College till October.” She felt herself making amends.

“That’s good.” He paused, “Can I, maybe, have a number to reach you on while you’re away?” This she hadn’t expected, and didn’t know what to say. Her hesitation felt like rejection, and she knew it.

“Well, you see, I’m not sure they have a phone where I’m going. It’s sort of a writers’ retreat, no distractions, no modern conveniences, only typewriters and such…”

“Sounds very literary,” he chuckled, embarrassed, “Perhaps I could write to you? You know, let you know how the real world is faring?...”

“That would be really lovely,” Ariana thought. But she couldn’t exactly advise him to purchase an owl. How did muggle correspondence work in Hogwarts? She’d never thought about it before. Perhaps there was a way to send postcards from the owlery? More likely the Hogsmeade post office had some sort of connection to muggle mail. “I tell you what,” she said, “Let me get settled in and I’ll send you a postcard with a return address, how about that?” Ollie nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “I will, I promise,” She brushed his hand with hers, he lightened up a bit, “See you, Ollie.”

“Take care.” 

She smiled and made her way out through the turnstile. 

The third elf overtook her as she entered the station. It was moving so fast that in the blur she didn’t notice whether and how it was dressed. It was very odd, the only explanation was that they were taking the train like her. Elves were the only creatures she knew that could apparate in the school grounds, so why were they taking the train? Her own reasons were three-fold. She wasn’t a confident apparator, and had splinched herself several times even since she got her licence. Her mother said it took practice, but she wasn’t sure how much of her would be left once she was done practicing. Besides that, she’d only be able to get as far as Hogsmeade High Street, and then there was the long walk over the hill to the castle. It was a hot day, and the heatwave had reached the north too, she’d be in a right state by the time she made it, and she intended to make a poised first impression. No, she’d arranged it with Professor Binns in correspondence, and asked if a thestral carriage could meet her off the train on its return to Hogsmeade. It was all taken care of. 

The main reason, of course, was that she loved the train. She loved its muggle mechanics and its magical selective visibility. Riding the Hogwarts Express twice a term was one of her favourite school memories. She loved all forms of muggle transport in fact, and waited keenly for wizards to catch up with muggle technology and create their own versions of cars, planes, maybe even rockets. Besides brooms, which were risky and visible, magical transportation was mostly immediate, uncomfortable, and undignified – be it by flue powder, portkey or apparition. It took great skill to arrive gracefully and few could manage it; certainly not she. No, no, far more pleasant and dignified to travel like a muggle, take time, enjoy the journey and the vistas. And she could get some work done on the train. 

She walked into King’s Cross station at a quarter to six. Thinking that the refreshment trolley was unlikely to serve the near empty train back, she bought a sandwich and a bottle of water from the station café and stowed them in her bag. The station was busy with workers rushing to grab seats on commuter trains, so no one took any notice as she confidently strode through the brick wall separating platforms nine and ten.

There were clusters of parents on platform 9¾ and a babble of excitement as they waited to be reunited with their children after 12 long weeks. She scanned the crowd for familiar faces, but wasn’t expecting any, given all her friends had long graduated. She made her way to the tail end of the platform, to avoid the rush for the exit once the train arrived. 

“Ariana!” She jumped at her name, and her heart sank as she saw a cluster of flame haired people ahead of her. Arthur Weasley was waving at her and smiling, “Ariana, over here!”, he repeated. Mrs Weasley next to him was pulling on his sleeve, trying to stop him. Two young Weasleys – she couldn’t quite remember their names now – were looking on curiously. 

Taking a deep breath and putting on a smile, she strolled over to them, pleasantly. 

“Hello there,” she said, “Good to see you all.”

“And you! Quite unexpected,” Arthur beamed, “Meeting a cousin off the train perhaps?”

“No, actually, I’m getting the train back to Hogwarts. I’m spending the summer there, it’s a research project from the Ministry. Historical artefacts…”

“How exciting!” said Arthur, she remembered there were many things he found exciting, “and I understand you’re still at muggle university?” 

“That’s right. One more year at least.”

“Muggles are so good at further education. If only wizards had a similar average thirst for learning. Most people are definitely not ready after their N.E.W.Ts. Don’t you think so, Molly?”

“I always thought that was plenty for me.” There was ice in Mrs Weasley’s voice, even though her smile was polite. Ariana had expected as much, and it wasn’t too different from what she’d remembered. Molly Weasley just didn’t like her very much. But then, she thought, what mother could wholeheartedly love her eldest son’s first serious girlfriend? Molly was always motherly and pleasant enough to her while she was with Bill, but that was more than two years ago now and there was little love lost.

“I guess you’re here to meet the twins off the train?” Ariana changed the subject, “Have they had a good first year?”

“Second,” Molly corrected her, “and I doubt it. We’ve had more owls from Professor McGonagall than I can count. The lengths those two will go to, to find trouble…”

“They’ve had a lot of fun though, I’m sure,” Mr Weasley was quick to put out the rage building on his wife’s face, “And they’re all innocent pranks, really.”

“Well, Charlie has just graduated and so there’s now only Percy to keep an eye on Ron here from September. I fear the Weasley reputation won’t hold much stock at Hogwarts any longer, as though Bill and Charlie were never there…” Mrs Weasley, put a protective hand on her youngest son’s shoulder.

“S’alright, mum,” said Ron, “Once I’m Keeper for Gryffindor, and Head Boy, like Bill, everyone will know we’re a good lot.”

“Of course they will!” Mr Weasley beamed at Ron. 

“And how is Bill?” Ariana finally asked, she couldn’t avoid it the question longer. 

“Quite well, actually, working for Gringotts Bank.” Mrs Weasley seemed to grow a few inches upon saying this.  
Ariana spoke before thinking, “Not breaking more curses, I hope,” she gave a chuckle, but it fell like lead. Mrs Weasley shrunk back to her normal size and Arthur looked uncomfortable. 

“Well, actually, yes,” he mumbled, “They’ve sent him to Egypt to learn from the tomb keepers. It seems you can’t keep him away from dark protective spells…”

“He’s very good at that,” Ariana said, with as much conviction as she could muster, “I’m sure he will keep himself safe,” – this, sounding less convinced. She caught Mrs Weasley’s eye, blushed and looked away. If the two women had anything in common, it was their concern for Bill, rushing head first into ancient hexes. 

One of the last fights she and Bill had was right before their N.E.W.Ts when he insisted on sneaking out into the Forbidden Forest at night in a storm, to charge an amulet. She couldn’t fathom the needless risk, the steadfast rule breaking even though he was Head Boy, the carelessness just before exams. She admired him for his courage, especially during the Cursed Vaults incident, when his intention was to keep others safe. But thoughtless daredevil acts, the drive for glory, and even treasure, this she found hard to respect. Ultimately it was what drove them apart at the end of their last year at Hogwarts. Of course Bill was breaking into pyramids in Egypt, it made perfect sense. 

“Well,” she looked at the platform clock, where the minute hand had almost straightened out, “It was lovely to see you all. Say hello to Bill from me when you write to him. Good luck at Hogwarts, Ron, I might see you on the train back.”

“Have a lovely summer, it’ll be nice having the school all quiet and to yourself.” Mr Weasley shook her hand. 

“Good bye everyone.” She walked away awkwardly, while she felt their eyes on her back. 

She had all her Bill thoughts neatly filed away in a drawer inside her mind, and the Weasleys appearing suddenly and muddling up the pages was not what she needed right now. It was awkward enough going back: seeing her teachers, but not being their student, explaining her plans to everyone, although few people genuinely understood or cared. The last thing she needed now was nostalgia for Bill bloody Weasley. She’d gotten over him, quite energetically, by the end of Michaelmas term in her first year at Queens’. Even though muggle boys were less interesting, none of them would ever think of dodging lightning to charge crystals: they were fun and drank beer, discussed Proust – having no idea he was a warlock – and wouldn’t be seen dead on a broomstick. And anyhow, that was all irrelevant for the next two months. She was shutting herself away from temptation, focusing on her long dead and abstinent Byzantine friends; she expected to feel closer than ever to the monks and scribes by the time September came. 

At the end of the platform she saw a babble of elves – was that the right collective noun for house elves? It certainly appeared so. There were about twelve of them, all strangely dressed again. There were polka dot frocked elves, elves in berets and baseball caps, suited and booted elves, elves in tie dye t-shirts. They made her feel underdressed in her corduroys and her untucked shirt. And the thought dawned on her – would she be expected to wear black robes around the castle, like a student? She hadn’t brought any, but it would be easy enough to transfigure something she had. Still, it’d be awkward and stuffy and the heat would probably only get worse in the coming weeks. 

But why were these elves here? And in clothes? This was really bugging her, but she felt too awkward to walk up and ask. Given her experience with Voltuy, she was never sure how to talk to elves. If you didn’t sound commanding they might not hear you, but at the same time it was odd to assume your superiority when talking to very powerful magical creatures.

As she thought about that, a high pitched whistle came, and the familiar puff of the steam engine was discernible in the distance. The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station in all its gleaming magnificence, whistling its arrival and bellowing steam.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Ariana's 7th year at Hogwarts, featuring Bill Weasley.

September glistened through the elder branches, the air was sweet with the drying grasses. Ariana watched a glumbumble circle a daisy, change its mind and retreat. The last warm Sunday was having a lethargic effect on all creatures, it seemed, including her. Long fingers glided to tuck a strand of gold hair behind her ear and she felt his breath on her throat. Reviewing the list of methods to pulverise insect larvae seemed futile now, the pages of _Advanced Potion-Making_ were at mercy of the breeze as she rolled onto her back and found Bill’s lips with her own. The kiss was deep and echoed down her spine, she couldn’t help her hips roll up to cut the distance between their bodies. Bill broke away and dove for her collarbone, nipping and sucking at the base of her neck. She felt her vision cloud and pushed on his shoulders, “Wait, hold on, someone will see.” “I don’t care,” he breathed into her clavicle. She held the sides of his head and drew him back up towards her face into another long snog, breaking for air she teased, “Well, you should, you have a reputation to uphold… Head Boy…”

She saw his jaw tighten as he stiffened and began to pull away. Inwardly she kicked herself – how many times had she made a stupid joke and killed a moment… Rapidly, she attempted to recover by rolling them over and straddling his hips , “I only mean to say, you’ll make Miranda feel awful… I don’t think she can take being the first HG in a generation to be snubbed like this… The gossip trail suggests she fully expected you to break up with me before the start of term to be with her…” she feigned a concerned look.

“Ha!” erupted Bill, “That’s a likely scenario. Since when are you such a gossip monger?”

“Since I am the news, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t think it suits you,” he furrowed his brow as he considered her.

“No? What will you do about it, Head Boy? Put me in detention?”

Bill’s eyes flashed as he jerked up and flipped the two on them over, until his body fully covered hers and her face was tented under his long hair. His voice found a new gruff register, “Now there’s a thought… The things I could do to you in detention…” She felt her breath hitch, and her lower back contract as he mused, “Perhaps I could make use of Filch’s shackles…” Her face and neck were burning, her mind outraged and confused and, was it turned on?... They shared an intense gaze and dared not breathe, until Bill cleared his throat and rolled off her. An awkward pause ensued as she found her breath again and tried not to meet his eyes.

She noticed that the air had grown colder now and the sun was low. She shrugged into her cardigan and said “Do you want to head back up?” He considered her for a moment, she gave him a reassuring smile, and saw his eyes pop as he remembered, “Wait! I haven’t given you your present!” He shook out his jacket, which was lying on the ground and a small black box with a tricky clasp fell out. He kneeled to reach for it and presented it to her with two hands, “Happy birthday, Arry.”

Ariana took the box carefully, it was no bigger than a spectacles case. She fiddled with the clasp until it clicked and opened to reveal a brass object, shaped like an hour glass in a circular frame. She raised shocked eyes at Bill.

“No way! This is really expensive, Bill…However did you manage - ”

“Don’t worry about that,” he waved a hand in the air, “it’s not a renewable time turner, it only has half a turn in it. More of a novelty thing. I just thought, you always say you replay our dates in your mind… Well, now you can really see one, if you want... Or use it to catch up a class or whatever.” He finished quickly, embarrassed.

“I love it, it’s brilliant, thank you.” She placed a tender kiss on his mouth, “It’s a really thoughtful gift, and I want us to enjoy it together. We’ll pick the right moment.”

A few minutes later they were walking hand in hand up to the castle, Ariana carried the blanket and Bill had their books under his free arm. “I’ve got a free period tomorrow, after potions, we could go back to the lake if it’s nice again.”

She shook her head, “Sinistra said the heatwave would only last the weekend. Plus I have double Binns tomorrow afternoon.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t dropped History of Magic, you must be barking.”

“Well, we are different people, Bill. I enjoy old books and you enjoy chasing first years out of broom cupboards…” this she said as they rounded the greenhouses to see a group of younger students pile into an empty blocked off corridor.

“Not this again…” groaned Bill, “Why do they keep doing this?” He picked up his pace, “Oi! You lot! Come out of there, you know it’s out of bounds!” Four heads emerged from the dark space of the door. “You two”, he rounded on two dark haired girls, probably twins, “I know I’ve told you before to stay away from here. It’s locked for a reason, honestly, nothing first years could handle.” 

“Sorry, Bill.” The girls said in unison.

“And you two – “ he looked at a boy and a girl trying to hide behind the twins, when Ariana interrupted.

“Are Ravenclaws. I’ll talk to them, don’t worry” finding steel in her voice, she turned to the kids, “Sidney, Clarence, Common Room now, please, and wait for me there.” The first years scattered and Bill motioned to the twins to follow suit.

“Cheers, Arry. I hate that this job is two thirds telling people off. I swear that’s the only reason teachers appoint us, so they can delegate the mischief.”

“No problem, you can defer to us prefects too, you know. Shall we ward off this door? I’ll tell Flitwick it’s not secure.”

“Good idea.” 

They cast a few deflecting charms around the corridor and a strengthening charm on the lock, before picking up their books and heading inside. Before parting on the staircase, she put her arms around his neck and said, “Your birthday falls on a Hogsmeade weekend, you know.”

“Oh?” Bill smiled back at her.

“Yes. I might have a few ideas about that…”


End file.
